


delicate thing

by YouAreMyDesign



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Bottom Will Graham, Breeding, Breeding Kink, Canon-Typical Violence, Caring Hannibal Lecter, Collars, Corsetry, Creampie, Crossdressing, Dark Will Graham, Facial Shaving, Fasting, Feeding, Feminization, Hair Braiding, Hannibal Lecter is a Cannibal, Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Leg shaving, M/M, Makeup, Murder, Murder Husbands, Orgasm Denial, Pedophilia, Possessive Behavior, Pregnancy Kink, Roleplay, Service Top, Shaving, Size Kink, Starvation, They Kill A Pedophile Together, Top Hannibal Lecter, Virginity Kink, Will Graham Knows, Will Graham is a Cannibal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-11-17 18:11:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18103763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YouAreMyDesign/pseuds/YouAreMyDesign
Summary: He knows Hannibal is waiting for him to bring it up. He does, two drinks into dinner, his jaw tight and his voice a low snarl; "You saw how he looked at her."





	delicate thing

He knows Hannibal is waiting for him to bring it up. He does, two drinks into dinner, his jaw tight and his voice a low snarl;

"You saw how he looked at her."

He doesn't need to look at Hannibal to see the mirroring rage, the darkness there. Will swallows, and finishes his wine, setting the glass down with utmost care as Hannibal's claws flex, and settle, on either side of his empty plate.

"Yes."

Will nods. "I'll start fasting tomorrow."

Hannibal lets out a quiet, discontented sound, but doesn't argue – Will knows it's only the idea of Will not sharing in their meals that upsets him, not the end result, or the purpose behind it. Will smiles, and tilts his head, reaches out and flattens a hand over Hannibal's knuckles.

Hannibal smiles at him, immediately calmed by his touch, and lifts Will's hand to kiss it. Their eyes meet, and Will offers him a soft, promising smile. "You'll have to get me all smooth again," he murmurs, watches Hannibal's eyes darken, his lips parting – again, not reacting to the idea itself, but the implications of the rest of it. Will tilts his fingers, lifts Hannibal's chin, leans forward until he knows he's got Hannibal's full attention, hook, line, and sinker. "We should go shopping."

A hum meets that suggestion, and Hannibal turns his head, kisses Will's flat palm, his delicate wrist. His eyes flash, considering, and then he says; "I'd like to braid your hair, this time."

Will's smile widens, shows teeth. "Whatever you want, baby."

 

 

Ever since he was a kid, Will has been fairly skinny, his metabolism and penchant for wandering off in the swamps chasing frogs and flies meaning he frequently missed meals, and what few calories he did manage to ingest were quickly worked off. Even growing out of his teenage years, into his twenties, his body was quick to shed excess weight when given the chance. When he joined the force, his yearly physical always came with a warning that he needed to eat more, that his body fat to muscle ratio wasn't quite unhealthy, but borderline.

Under Hannibal's care, he's well-fed. Though he never mentioned it, Hannibal's keen eyes and medical training quickly diagnosed and reacted to Will's diet, or lack thereof, and it wasn't long before their meals became perfectly balanced, rich with vitamins, protein, and carbohydrates that made Will feel full and gave him near-boundless energy.

The loss of that is jarring, but not entirely unfamiliar. Hannibal keeps him on IVs, making sure his body doesn't shut down, but it does nothing to settle the ache in his stomach. Hunger brings with it a deep, cavernous need, an emptiness that drives Will to direct his need for satisfaction into touch. Though Hannibal doesn't enjoy starving Will, he delights in the effects of it, smiling when Will's kisses turn hungry and wanting, his claws sharpen in his mate's flesh, his thighs spread, seeking fullness the only way he's allowed. He is a feast during Will's famine, provides ample amounts of strong flesh and exposed skin that Will can bite, and claw, as much as he likes.

He has Will like that now, Will shaking finely as his weak body tries to move as it usually does – Will does not like to be passive in bed, he likes fighting it, likes being overwhelmed and pinned down. Likes it, when Hannibal lets him roll onto his knees and ride, fucking himself onto his lover's cock as Hannibal watches. Now, even after so short a time, his thighs are skinny, wrists frail, and so Hannibal must hold him, lifting his slim hips up so Hannibal can penetrate and fill him, clutching him one-handed, easy, as if Will weighs no more than air.

Around his throat, a collar sits, pulled so tight that swallowing anything thicker than water hurts. It helps him resist the urge to eat, like a cone on a dog's head, and his flushed skin is shining with sweat around it as Hannibal works Will's hips onto his cock, and he snarls when Will clamps down. Hannibal is so big, so strong, and when Will fasts he is absolute, terrifying in his control, command, and undeniable power.

"Please," Will whispers, his throat raw from his cries, because it feels so good when Hannibal fucks him. He pushes his hand against his own belly, feels thin flesh give until he can touch the bulging head of Hannibal's cock, pushing against his palm as Hannibal fucks him. " _God_ , please, fill me up."

Hannibal obeys his frantic cry, shoving in and going still with a grunt as he comes. Will's hand twitches, feeling the pulse of his cock inside, the heaviness of his come – Hannibal comes a lot, always eager to keep Will full when he can.

Will smiles, lazy and sated, and lifts his other hand to pull him down, kissing Hannibal's pink mouth as he leans over Will, crushing their bodies together. When Hannibal is soft, he pulls out, and Will shivers, groaning, slicking his thighs together and huffing an unsteady laugh.

Hannibal smiles, flushed and fine, and kisses him again when Will gives a petulant little whine. "Come now, you greedy thing," he murmurs, and lifts Will from the bed, putting him on his knees. He stands, naked and shining with sweat, and Will licks his lips and trails his fingers, absently, between his legs, pressing on the soft, slick skin.

Hannibal returns to him, climbs on the bed behind him, and Will shivers, sucking in a breath as the soft silk and the hard edges of the corset wrap around him. He doesn't know if it's technically a corset, for it seems too functional and lacks any aesthetic appeal he normally associates with such a thing, but it does the job of crushing Will's brittle ribs, pulling his stomach and waist in, and helps his body shed its excess while he fasts, loss of water weight and starvation combining to make him slim and delicate in all the right places.

Hannibal wraps it around him, hooking it at the back, and shivers, kissing Will's flushed neck above the collar as his fingers wrap in the ribbons on one side, threading through the other, and he starts to pull them tight. Every time Will breathes in, Hannibal tightens it, until it hurts, cutting into the skin above his hipbones and under his arms, until his pectoral muscles bulge against the little rise at the top where a woman's breasts would normally sit. With Hannibal's teeth in his neck, the tightness wrapped around Will's chest and stomach, he is within a python's coils, slowly suffocating, and Hannibal keeps tightening until it hurts to breathe, before he finishes, tying the ribbons in a neat little bow at the bottom, and his hands flatten with reverence on Will's sides.

"Beautiful," he breathes, and Will shivers and smiles. Then, "Tell me if it starts to feel loose."

Will nods, turns his face, and kisses at his jaw. "Of course."

 

 

Within a week, Will has lost almost twenty pounds in total, and his cheekbones and jaw have turned shaper, his collarbones jutting, his thighs and arms now much slimmer than he would like them to be. But it's closer to the look he's going for, and with Hannibal tightening the corset whenever he asks, he knows that, soon, he'll be able to carry out his plan.

He takes Hannibal to the bathroom with a smile, kissing him until Hannibal's eyes turn dark, and sits on the edge of the counter, nudging the bottle of shaving lotion with his elbow. Next to it is a washcloth, and a smooth plastic razor – no blade, the kind that comes with bottles of Nair, spatula-like.

Hannibal smiles, and cups his face for another kiss, taking the cloth and wetting it, before he kneels at Will's feet, gently rubbing the cloth over his ankles, where his leg hair stops. Then, up, wetting and warming the skin around his calves, up over his shins, behind his knees. Will shivers, biting his lower lip, and spreads his thighs so Hannibal can clean and wet him between them, too.

When he's finished, he sets the cloth by Will's hip, and takes the bottle of lotion. He doesn't like the smell, and his nose wrinkles as he opens it, squirting a heavy amount onto his hands. Will huffs, smiling, and leans down, cupping his face and kissing him deeply as Hannibal's hands wrap around his right ankle, smearing the lotion in a thick layer over his skin.

His hands move up, and Will lets out a weak, wanton noise. The lotion is cold but Hannibal is warm, spreading his hands wide around Will's skinny legs, devoid now of excess fat and muscle. His foot twitches, tilts so he can rub at Hannibal's flank with his toes, and he grins at the soft huff he receives in answer.

But Hannibal is smiling, as the familiar light burn starts where he left the lotion. He pours out more, and spreads it over Will's thigh, tugging him to the very edge of the counter so he can cover all of Will's leg hair. Then, he begins on the other, and Will bites his lower lip, his lashes low, and he leans back, sighing in pleasure as Hannibal finishes, and then stands, washing his hands in the sink.

Hannibal leans in, careful to avoid getting lotion on his clothes, and kisses Will's neck, sending another spark of pleasure through him, his cock twitching and his thighs wanting to come together, to provide friction. His eyes are dark when he meets Will's, and he touches Will's cheek, sighing when Will smiles and nuzzles his wrist.

"You're going to look devastating, by the end," he murmurs.

Will grins. "Good enough to eat?"

"You're always that," Hannibal replies, and even though Will is starving, Hannibal is ravenous. He smiles, shows his teeth, and purrs; "I could just eat you all up."

Will laughs.

They wait for the twelve minutes suggested by the bottle, and then Hannibal kneels again, razor in hand. He cleans a small patch from Will's thigh, pleased when the hair comes away without protest, revealing smooth, soft skin. He cradles the arch of Will's foot in one hand, keeping him still, and slowly peels away the rest of the lotion and hair, only pausing to wipe the excess on the cloth before returning the razor to Will's skin. When his lower leg is bared, he pauses, breathes in shakily, and presses a kiss to Will's smooth knee.

He continues his course, wiping away hair and lotion from Will's thighs, then his other shin, finally finishing on his left ankle. He sets the razor down and slides his hands up Will's legs, checking to make sure they didn't miss anything. Without the hair, and thin as he is, Will's flesh is delicate and pink, and his lashes flutter as Hannibal kisses the inside of his thigh, parts his lips to suck a mark.

Will growls in warning, tightening a hand in Hannibal's hair. "No," he says, and Hannibal's eyes flash, and darken. "No marks. Nothing he'll be able to see."

Hannibal snarls, his grip tightening on the outside of Will's thighs. "Darling," he breathes, "do you intend to let him see this?"

"I imagine he'll want to," Will replies, purring, delighted at the show of Hannibal's anger. Hannibal rises, digs his nails into Will's hips, and yanks him off the counter. Will has to let go of his hair, hands flying back to keep himself upright, since Hannibal doesn't let him stand.

"You'll let him touch you?" he snarls, on fire with outrage, and sets Will down, hauling him around so he's braced against his stomach on the counter. Hannibal yanks his underwear down and, his fingers damp, slides them against Will's hole, where he's still wet and clinging from Hannibal fucking him earlier that day.

Will shivers, helpless and delighted by that knowledge. "Does that make you angry?" he asks, smiling when Hannibal merely snarls, and shoves in with two fingers. It burns, and Will tightens with a small whine, clenching his fists as Hannibal fucks deep into him with his fingers, spreading them out immediately without giving Will time to adjust.

Hannibal's cock follows soon after, wet only at the tip with his saliva, and he grabs Will by the hair and hauls him upright, making him look at himself in the mirror, corseted and collared and flushed to his neck as Hannibal pushes into him. In the reflection, Hannibal's face is a mask of rage, and as tight as the corset is, Will feels his cockhead butt against the back of his stomach, and he whines, swallowing as much as he's able.

He doesn't last long, and he doesn't waste time trying to make Will come, as he snarls and fucks in and finishes with a low rumble, filling Will until he's dripping wet. He pulls out, and grabs Will's ass tightly, until he winces, lifting onto his toes, and flattens his hands against the counter.

"Never forget who owns you, darling," Hannibal says, and parts from him with one sharp hit to his smooth thigh.

Will gasps, and smiles at Hannibal in the mirror. "Never, I promise."

 

 

Will pays for his behavior by sitting at the table as Hannibal eats, his hands shaking and his head light with hunger. The food on Hannibal's plate looks like the single most delicious thing he's ever seen, aside from maybe the man himself. There's meat, rich with blood, and a brightly-colored salad, and fresh-baked bread with melted butter, and Will groans, trembling in his seat as he watches Hannibal eat. It feels like it lasts forever before Hannibal is done.

When he is, though, Will gets to his feet, circles the table, and falls to his knees at Hannibal's side. "Please, Hannibal," he whispers, and paws at Hannibal's thigh. "Just a taste."

Hannibal smiles at him, brows lifted, and, wordlessly, he takes his plate and sets it on his lap. Will's mouth waters, and he leans in, sighing as Hannibal wraps a hand in his hair, heavy and warm, as Will presses his tongue shamelessly to the porcelain, licking up the remains of the meat juice, the salad dressing, the small flakes of breadcrust that cling to the edges of it.

Hannibal sighs, petting over Will's nape, which is sore and tender from prolonged use the collar. His chest feels tight and brittle, his stomach _aches_ , and he moans when Hannibal takes the plate away, licking his lips to get the last taste of meat from them. He looks up, breathing hard, his eyes wide and plaintive, and Hannibal regards him with a fond smile.

"Tomorrow," he tells Will. Will nods, and smiles, and lifts his mouth eagerly when Hannibal kisses him.

 

 

He takes the collar off Will, so he will have no marks on his neck, and releases the corset. Will takes his first free breath, moaning when it merely aches, and presses his hands flat to his sunken flanks, his thin hips, his slim shoulders now utterly deprived of any muscle and fat that makes him look like he normally does. He's weak and unresistant as Hannibal leads him to the bathroom, his shaving kit left out, the straight razor gleaming brightly in the light.

He washes Will's face with utmost care, tender as he always is until Will begs for his teeth, and kisses his forehead as he takes the razor in hand. Will lifts his chin, trusting as ever, and sighs as Hannibal works the shaving foam over his face, covering his beard, and starts to shave it off in long, firm strokes. The touch of the razor is like a kiss, bringing a fine blush to Will's cheeks, and he lifts his eyes to see Hannibal smile, his free hand cupped over Will's neck, thumb at the hollow of his throat to coax him into stillness. As if Will has ever flinched from him.

He knows, objectively, Hannibal has no preference for Will clean-shaven, or skinny, or strong, or with facial hair. He's the kind of man who is attracted to the mind, first, and merely appreciates the aesthetic of the flesh that covers it. Still, his eyes are dark as he bares Will's face, his lips parted to show the slip of his tongue as he works.

Will smiles. "You like me young?" he asks.

Hannibal's brows lifts, and he huffs. "Not that young," he replies.

"Innocent, then."

Hannibal's head tilts, and he tucks his thumb along Will's jaw, angling his head up further so he can get at his neck. "I have a deep admiration and appreciation for your killer instinct," he says, and Will hums, pressing his lips together. "The less intimidating the exterior, the more savage it seems, in comparison." He smiles. "I suppose, then, yes; the more innocent you look, the more aware I am of how beautiful you are – a side you only show me. It is a perversion, in its own way."

"No it's not," Will snaps, his fingers curling. "You don't look at kids like that."

"Children are the most innocent among us," Hannibal murmurs. His head tilts, and he meets Will's eyes. "But, no, I don't. I am attracted to the contrast of your innocence, Will. Were you a child, you would hold no allure for me."

Will swallows, breathing out. "Sorry," he says, and Hannibal nods, finishing with his neck and clearing the razor and foam away. Will reaches out, and curls a hand around his wrist. "I didn't mean to sound like I was accusing you, if that's how it came across."

"Not at all," Hannibal replies lightly, and smiles, finishing with putting away the shaving kit, the bowl of water. He wets the towel again and gently pats down Will's flushed face, over his neck, and then sets that down, cupping his jaw. "Hunts like this are particularly taxing on you," he says, soft with understanding, and brushes a thumb over Will's sharply-rising cheekbone. "In more ways than one."

Will nods again, licking his lips, and Hannibal smiles.

"Come with me, darling," he purrs, and helps Will to his feet, leading him into the bedroom and laying him out on their cool sheets. Hannibal covers him, body warm and solid and so, so heavy, and Will shivers, spreading his legs, dizzy already when Hannibal cups his nape and kisses him. He can tell, as Hannibal sheds their clothes with a snarl, that the feeling of Will's smooth, slim thighs wrapping around him affects him deeply.

Hannibal grabs both his wrists, pinning them above his head, taking advantage of Will's weakness while he can, and Will moans, softly, lashes fluttering as he's kissed, and Hannibal's nails dig into his thin wrists. Hannibal's cock is swollen and heavy, leaking onto Will's sunken belly, and he arches up with another moan, legs tight and heels digging into his back.

"Please," he gasps, when Hannibal pulls away. "Help me…get ready."

Hannibal smiles, and nods, leaning down and nosing at Will's neck. He rises only briefly to wet his fingers with the lubricant on their bedside table, and then leans over Will again, pinning him as his fingers slide, slicking between Will's legs.

Will closes his eyes, breathes in, lets the feeling of total helplessness sweep over him, making his fingers curl, his thighs quake. Feels himself whimper, tensing and unsure, as Hannibal nuzzles his exposed neck.

"Shh, sweet thing," Hannibal purrs, gently coaxing Will's mindset into what he needs to be, tomorrow, for their hunt. Hannibal's voice is rough with lust, low, a rumble in his chest when Will slackens his legs and arms, knowing he's not going anywhere. "I promise, I won't hurt you. It'll feel good."

Will nods, swallowing, as Hannibal nuzzles his hair, presses a gentle kiss to his forehead. Still, he tenses up and whines when Hannibal pushes a finger into him, his body too weak, so utterly small under his lover's weight. Hannibal's finger curls, sinks in, drags back so slowly Will might lose his damn mind. He imagines, easily, how he must look, flushed and trembling beneath him.

He opens his eyes, finds Hannibal staring at him ravenously. He licks his lips and shakes his head. "I've never -."

He stops, as Hannibal pushes in again, and Hannibal swallows back a snarl, his nostrils flaring, his cock twitching heavy on Will's thigh. "I'll be gentle," he promises, his voice doing nothing to hide the hungry, wanting look in his eyes. _Predatory_ , Will thinks. He needs to get used to that, for tomorrow. "Just relax, darling, it'll hurt if you don't relax."

Will swallows, spasming briefly around Hannibal's finger. Makes his voice high, and sweet, when he whispers, "Kiss me?"

Hannibal smiles, and releases his wrists, pleased when Will keeps them up. He cups Will's nape and lifts him into a tender kiss, lacking teeth, and Will moans weakly, lets his stomach sink in and his chest expand in a rapid inhale, his cock hardening between their bellies, and he can't keep his hands where they are – he clutches Hannibal's shoulders, his grip slack and weak, no strength in him to claw as he really wants.

Hannibal growls, kisses him again, ruts his cock against Will's and through the slick leaking from both of them as he presses, gently, with another finger. His hand tightens on Will's neck, where it's aching from the collar being there for so long. "Let me in, darling," he whispers, and Will whimpers, relaxes because he wants it, shakes his head because he needs to pretend he doesn't. "That's it. Good – sweet, delicate thing. You're trembling, darling."

Will knows that. Not all of it is fake, just his body too exhausted to move like he wants it to. "Feels good," he breathes, keeps his voice high, watching Hannibal's eyes flash and narrow, his lashes dipping down, then his head, kissing Will's too-stark collarbone. Will whines, when his second finger pushes in, grips his nails into Hannibal's shoulders and whispers, "Big."

"I know, sweet thing, but if you want me inside you, we have to stretch you out first."

Even as he says it, he pulls his fingers out, spreading them wide so Will gapes, for a moment, before he leaves Will completely. Will gasps, gives a weak moan of loss, and tilts his head back to show more of his neck as Hannibal's slick hand wraps around his own cock, wetting it with lubricant along with the precum leaking from them both.

Hannibal growls, and rears up, pushing his hands beneath Will's weak thighs and folding him, so his knees are pressed to his chest. As thin as he is, he bends easily, hips lifted as Hannibal puts a pillow beneath them to keep him raised.

"Keep your legs together, darling," Hannibal snarls, and Will obeys, holding the backs of his thighs and looping his fingers around the opposite wrist, tucking his forearms behind his knees and bending them, so he can see Hannibal's face. Hannibal's upper lip pulls back, and he sighs in pleasure, petting down Will's thighs and gripping him tight where his flesh turns soft. "Good boy."

Will winces, gritting his teeth and tipping his head back as he feels Hannibal start to push into him. Will is stretched and wet enough for him to enjoy it, he knows from experience that Hannibal always feels good inside him, but this character in his head is scared, and nervous, and flinches, finding that he can't go anywhere because of Hannibal's grip on him.

"It hurts," he breathes, as Hannibal forces himself inside. He pushes one hand on Hannibal's chest, can only touch with his fingertips, frantic and fluttering. "Please. It hurts." His eyes are wide, his voice high, pleading for Hannibal to stop – but he doesn't say the words, because if he does, he knows Hannibal will.

"I know," Hannibal breathes. There's sweat on his brow and a prowling darkness in his eyes, something with teeth and claws and Will aches for it. He pushes in further, holding Will fast, and breathes out heavily as Will clenches and writhes, trying to push him away. "It'll feel good, darling, I promise. Just relax."

Will trembles, panting, and spasms around him again, earning a low, tense noise clawed from Hannibal's throat. He fucks in further, spreads his knees wide around the pillow, and yanks Will the final few inches, onto him, and Will cries out as his warm flesh connects with Hannibal's strong thighs and hips. He throws his head back, pawing at his lover's knee with his free hand, his other fist clenched tight and arm shaking as he tries to hold his legs up and out of the way.

Hannibal snarls, and pushes behind his knees, forcing his legs apart and Will falls, open for him, as he shoves at Will's legs, makes him fold and bend, until his knees are pressed to his shoulders, and Hannibal rears up, fucking hard and fast, giving Will no time to breathe, to think – he can't think, can only stare, writhing and moaning, as Hannibal drives all conscious thought from his head. He pulls at Hannibal's sweaty flanks, whines as his weak body is mercilessly pinned, fucked, spread open and wet. Hannibal's cock drags against that spot inside of him, too big to miss, and Will moans when he sees Hannibal moving inside of him, his stomach so thin and sunken that it bulges when Hannibal pushes deep.

He's spread open, flushed, leaking steadily onto his belly, and he's going to come – can't stop it, not when Hannibal looks at him like that. He wraps a hand around his cock as Hannibal's jaw clenches, his nostrils flare, and Will comes with a weak whine, no room for him to buck up, his toes curling as Hannibal immediately fucks in again and his throat tight from making so much noise.

"Good boy," he growls, and resumes his pace inside of Will, Will so sensitive and sore that it does hurt, now. Will gives a soft whine, petting his dirty hand through the hair on Hannibal's chest, up over his sweaty neck as Hannibal snarls, and slows.

He sucks in a breath, widens his eyes, shakes his head. "You can't come inside me," he whispers, and Hannibal's claws flex on him, his eyes dark with outrage. "I'll get pregnant. You can't." He doesn't say _don't_ , because Hannibal knows Will wants him to.

 _This_ is something Hannibal does like. Something that strikes him, deeply – always does, when Will touches him through his stomach or mentions being bred. His lips twitch like he's trying to smile, but it looks more like a snarl. "Don't worry, darling," he purrs, predatory again. "I can control myself."

Will swallows, pets over Hannibal's strong arms, and gives him a weak, trusting smile. "Okay," he says, high and sweet, and Hannibal growls, rearing over him, flattening Will to the bed. He rolls his hips, fucking in deeply, and Will's lashes flutter, his lips parted in a soundless moan as Hannibal leans down, licks between his teeth, swallowing the noise. His arms wrap under Will's back, his shoulders tight to the backs of Will's knees, and he fucks in harshly, no more gentle for how sensitive and sore Will is. Will pets through his hair, kisses again, again, hungry and aching as Hannibal's cock bruises his stomach, makes his legs tremble, his shoulders curl in.

Hannibal goes still again, snarling low, and bites Will's neck to keep him still, one hand in his hair tugging harshly to get Will to expose his throat. Will sighs, smiling as Hannibal twitches inside him, flooding his spasming body, and he wraps his arms around Hannibal's shoulders, heaves another sated sigh, and touches his lips to Hannibal's ear.

"You're a dirty rotten liar, Doctor Lecter."

Hannibal shivers. He pulls back with a smile, gentles his hand, and lets Will's legs spread and fall to a more comfortable position, sighing with pleasure as Will wraps himself around his lover. "I'm sorry, darling – you bring out the worst in me."

Will laughs, the motion of his body forcing Hannibal's softening cock out of him, along with a thick stream of warm slick. He kisses Hannibal's sweaty neck, nips gently, and turns his head to get another kiss.

"I love you," he murmurs.

Hannibal's eyes shine with joy, and he wraps himself around Will, kissing him deeply. "And I love and adore you," he breathes. "My dear Will."

Will hums, lashes low. "When we're done tomorrow, what are you gonna feed me?"

Hannibal smiles, lets out a soft sound of consideration. "I'm not sure," he says, and tucks Will's hair behind his ear. "Something sweet, I think."

Will's stomach clenches with hunger, and he nods, and kisses him again.

 

 

The man is at the park again – he has been every day. Will went, to make sure, and his fingers curl as the man's eyes linger on the children playing on the playground. Hannibal spent the morning braiding extensions into Will's hair, wrapping it in a loose French braid down the side of his neck, and cleaned up any lingering hair on his neck and face. He's dressed in a large, warm sweater, a wide neck exposing one shoulder where there lingers a thin strap from a tank top – blue, Hannibal insisted, to bring out his eyes. Black leggings that reach just past his knee, relying on the sweater to hide the obvious evidence that he's not a young girl.

He sits on the swings, dragging one sneaker-clad toe through the little stretch of red tarmac beneath, pushing himself back and forth, and sighs at his phone, putting on an air of quiet frustration. The kind of things men respond to, when they're like that. Across from the stretch of greenery separating playground from sidewalk, Hannibal sits, a book in his hand. But Will knows he isn't reading it.

Finally, as the playground clears of the last child, Will is the only one left. The air is cold and he shivers, pulling his other knee to his chest, and sighs down at his phone again. Watches, from the corner of his eye, as the man stands and approaches him, and takes a seat on the other swing.

Will tugs the shorter hair Hannibal didn't braid forward, hiding most of his face, and he slips the man a polite, nervous smile. The man smiles back – he's almost handsome, would be, if Will didn't know what he was. His hair is sandy blond, short-cropped like something military, and he has big arms and broad shoulders.

"Hey," he greets warmly, and Will's smile widens, twitches in a nervous reply.

"Hi," he says, keeping his voice high and feminine. Shivers as the man's eyes rake over him.

"I'm Joe," the man says, and offers his hand to shake. Will blinks at it, and shakes his hand quickly, before he tucks it back below his thigh.

"Willa," Will replies.

"Nice to meet you, Willa," Joe says, and Will shivers, unable to ignore the way Joe looks at him, predatory and eager. His smile is wide, showing straight, white teeth. Joe's eyes lift, and he nods to Hannibal. "That your dad?"

Will's brow creases, and he shakes his head. "I don't know him," he lies. "I just moved here."

"Oh?"

Will nods, and sighs at his phone again as the alarm goes off, pretending it's a text. He gives a huff of frustration, types nonsense into his messages and sends it off, then rolls his eyes, slumping in that way teenagers do. "Does it get easier as a grown-up?"

"What's that?"

"Boys," Will says, and rolls his eyes. He tucks his hair behind his ear, enough makeup on his face to hide the lines around his eyes and mouth that would away his age. It's enough of an illusion combined with the rest of his appearance that he knows Joe won't look too closely – men like him don't see details like that, just opportunities, and weakness.

"Unfortunately boys don't get any better," Joe says with a sympathetic nod. "Men, though…"

Will's stomach rolls with disgust, but he makes himself giggle instead.

"What's going on, Willa? What boy's giving you trouble?"

"Oh, it's just…" Will bites his lower lip, shifts his weight like he's nervous, and shy. "I probably shouldn't say."

"Come on, you can tell me."

"Well, I mean, so I met this boy, and he's really nice, and I like him a lot, but he's…" Will sighs, and tugs on his braid, wrapping the ends around his finger idly. "He treats me like a kid. He's not _that_ much older than me, and I'm fifteen! I'm practically an _adult_."

"Mm." Joe's eyes linger over him again, and he smiles.

"I'm ready for more," Will says with another huff, tapering it with a petulant whine. "But he won't, you know…" He blushes, tilting his head down, hiding his face again.

He forces himself not to flinch, as Joe reaches out to tuck his hair behind his ear. Lifts his eyes to see Hannibal stiff, staring hard at his book, and he shivers and looks at Joe. "I think that boy's mighty stupid, and doesn't know what he's missing." Will smiles sweetly. "But if you want to… _you know_ …." Will's blush deepens, "You just need to find someone who'll treat you right."

Will shifts his weight, squirming under the attention. He feels sick. "I think you're right, Joe," he says softly.

Joe smiles widely, and flattens his hand on Will's thigh, low. Will shivers.

"How about you and I go take a walk?" Joe asks, and Will bites his lower lip. "My house isn't far from here. We can talk more, there."

"My dad says I shouldn't go with strangers."

Joe nods, and before he can protest – undoubtedly to feed Will some other line – Will reaches down, and curls his fingers around Joe's, squeezing.

"But my dad's not here," Will purrs.

Joe grins, and pushes himself to his feet, tugging Will up. Joe is taller than him, though not by much, and he laughs, pressing his hands to Will's skinny waist. "You're practically all grown up," he growls, and Will blushes, giving him a demure smile.

"I know," he says happily, and takes Joe's hand. "Let's go."

Joe nods, leading him away from the playground, and though Will doesn't look behind him, he knows Hannibal waits merely a moment before closing his book, and following.

 

 

Joe offers him soda, which Will doesn't drink. He knows better, but he pretends to, wetting his lips and wiping his mouth with a gasp as Joe sits next to him on his ugly corduroy couch, and touches his thigh with a big, warm hand, smiling when Will shivers and lets out a nervous sound.

"Sorry," he says, when Joe pauses. "I've never…done this before."

"It's alright," Joe purrs, and the sound of his voice is so low, sliding grossly along Will's skin like oil. He hides it with another shiver, pressing his lips together, and lowers his eyes to Joe's lap, sees the obscene bulge of his cock in his jeans and is glad that Joe looks small.

Pretending to be brazen, he reaches for it, and flattens his hand daintily along the obvious line. "Can I see?"

Joe's eyes flash, and he nods, sitting back as Will slides to his knees in front of him. His eyes flash to the front door, hoping Hannibal isn't far behind, and he swallows, fixes Joe with a small, eager smile, and watches as he unbuttons and unzips his jeans, hips lifting as he pushes his jeans and underwear down, exposing his hard cock. He's short, but thick, cut, and Will licks his lips at the sight of his blush-red flesh, the thin, white line of the circumcision scar.

He reaches forward, hand shaking, and wraps his fingers around the shaft. Jerks, once, gently, as Joe shudders and tips his head back, eyes closing. The front door opens, and Will breathes out a sigh of relief, smiling when Hannibal enters, and shuts and locks the door behind him.

"Thank God," he says, using his normal voice. "I thought you were gonna make me suck his dick."

Joe's eyes fly open, and he straightens with a yell, only for Hannibal to come up behind him and grab his head, expertly jerking his head up and across, paralyzing him but not killing him. Joe goes limp, staring wide-eyed at a spot past Will's head, and Will straightens with a snarl, wiping his hands off on the arm of the couch.

"Forgive me, darling," Hannibal says. "But I would never let someone like him inside you."

Unspoken, but loud; _You're mine alone._

Will wipes a hand over his mouth, shrugging off the revulsion, and Hannibal corrects Joe's head, so his eyes land on Will. His mouth gapes, his chest convulsing in frantic little breaths – Hannibal must have disconnected something in him that allows him to breathe. He's suffocating, slowly. It's not as slow as Will wanted him to die, but it's enough.

"Ah, no," Will murmurs, as Joe's lashes flutter. He leans over the man, grabs his chin and parts his mouth, tilting his head so he can breathe into his lungs, making them inflate. It's not enough, he knows that, and at Hannibal's warning snarl, he pulls back.

Hannibal has a satchel, and from it he pulls out a breathing bag, the face mask large and triangular, attached to a piece of elastic. He pulls it taut, stretches it over Joe's head and fits the mask over his nose and mouth, and Will smiles, pleased when he starts to squeeze in rhythm, the valves open to allow air to flood into his lungs, keeping him alive a little longer.

Will lifts his head, wipes his mouth, and kisses him deeply. "Thanks, baby."

"It's my pleasure, Will," Hannibal replies, smiling.

Will hums, and looks down at Joe's big, unblinking eyes. They're green – he didn't get a good look, before.

He straightens, and slowly pulls the hair tie from the end of his braid, shaking it out so it falls down his back, and tugs at the fake strands, so they part, and Hannibal hands him the satchel so he can place the extensions inside it.

"Why do you think he likes them so much?" he whispers. In Hannibal's bag is also makeup wipes, and he takes one out, cleaning his face and smearing the foundation away. "You think it's…the innocence?"

Hannibal hums. "Forgive me, darling, but I'd rather not understand something like that."

Will nods, folding the makeup wipe and placing it back in the bag. He doesn't want to look, doesn't want to see. Doesn't want to feel the lingering warmth of this fucker's hands on him. And he will, if he stays – he had pictured this going differently. There are knives and needles in Hannibal's bag too, sedatives, so that Will could cut into him and bleed him dry, take crass advantage as this man so clearly prefers to have it. But the reality of this sits heavily on his exhausted shoulders, and he finds the idea of even sharing breath with his man for another moment abhorrent.

He sighs. "Take the mask off," he murmurs, and Hannibal obeys with another nod, pulling it free and placing it back in the bag. Will runs a hand through his hair, shaking it loose, and watches as the man seizes, eyes wide and pleading. Will watches him as he dies, because he likes watching them die, likes knowing he was the one who made it happen – that Hannibal helped him make it happen.

He smiles, and rubs a hand over his mouth, wiping away the lingering moisture from the wipe, and sighs, and meets Hannibal's eyes. "Take me home," he says, and Hannibal nods, smiling, and reaches for him. Joe never saw him coming, and he doesn't see them leave. Insignificant, lost in time, and maybe someone will find him when he starts to smell.

Will doesn't care.

 

 

Hannibal has a hand on his thigh as they drive back home, and Will shudders, snapping his teeth together. "Don't touch me," he says.

Hannibal blinks, but removes his hand immediately, and Will swallows.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, running his hands through his hair, glad to have the weight of the extensions off him, his neck bare, his fingers free to curl around his nape. "He…. I can feel his hands on me, still. I couldn't help…" He pauses, teeth bared. " _Looking_."

Hannibal nods, accepting that. "When we get home, we will eat, and you can shower and shed your skin." Will sighs, eager for that – he doesn't know if he is anticipating the shower or the food more. His stomach aches, empty, his body desperate to be filled. On the sidewalk, a mother walks with her two children, the same age Will was pretending to be, and his body rolls with another revolted shiver.

When they return home, Will goes to neither the dining room or the kitchen, but turns and presses himself up against Hannibal's chest, pinning him to the wall, and kisses him with teeth. Hannibal answers him immediately, gripping Will's jutting hips, kissing back with a soft, eager sound. He cups Will's clean-shaven jaw with one hand, growls into his mouth, and surges forward, pinning Will against the opposite wall.

Will is too weak to fight back, still, but he won't be for long. Even with his weakness, when he pushes at Hannibal's chest, Hannibal goes, obedient to a fault, and Will sighs, and touches his fingers to his mouth.

"I didn't let him kiss me," he says, and Hannibal nods, lips pressed together. "I don't think I would have…handled that well."

"Nor I," Hannibal replies, as possessive as he is obedient, and gentle, and all the things Will loves about him. He touches his thumb to the corner of Will's mouth and Will sighs, tilts his head, shows his neck so Hannibal can kiss him there. "Go upstairs, darling. Shower and change. I'll have food for you when you're done."

Will nods, and obeys. He sheds the clothes that no longer feel comfortable on his skin, goes to the shower and scrubs himself until he's pink and warm, and when he returns, dressed in Hannibal's clothes, he follows his nose to the dining room and finds that Hannibal has laid out a veritable feast. There is meat, and wine, and mountains of food, and he huffs a laugh and takes his seat, smiling when Hannibal pets through his hair and kisses his forehead.

He eats, and eats, until his neglected belly is distended, and he's drunk with relief, finally feeling the weight of that man's eyes, his touch, fall away from him. They finish with a sweet chocolate torte, as Hannibal promised, and it tastes so good after so long without that Will is shaking.

He closes his eyes, and reaches for Hannibal's hand. Squeezes, tightly, when their fingers lace.

"I need to fuck you," he whispers, and opens his eyes to see Hannibal's darken, his shoulders tense and roll with anticipation. Though Will's preference is to feel Hannibal inside him, to be covered and consumed by the man he loves, hunts like this leave him rabid for assertion, to feel like himself again. "You gonna let me?"

Hannibal smiles, and lifts his knuckles, kissing them lightly. "Of course, my love," he purrs, and stands, tugging Will to his feet, into a kiss that still, despite their meal, is hungry. "Follow me."


End file.
